


Sugar

by Duckay



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Blow Jobs, Choking on Semen, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Lapdance, M/M, Police Uniforms, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-23 11:45:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8326660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckay/pseuds/Duckay
Summary: Tyler Breeze's excellent detective work found the missing Fandango. Now he has to reward him for being found, or perhaps punish him for having gone missing.





	1. Officer Breeze

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the WWE.com exclusive video "Give me back my Dango!" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_L0UsU6tABc

“I don’t even need this now, though, I found you,” Tyler had said, a sort of faintly sheepish look in his eye - hidden well, but not completely, by the brim of his hat shadowing his face.

There were a lot of things that Fandango could have said to that, and as soon as his brain was equipped to start working again he was sure he could think of a whole list of them. With Tyler so close, and in that outfit, the only one of them that came to mind was that he had to do everything that he could to make sure Tyler knew that he couldn’t possibly get rid of it any time soon.

His first instinct had been to kiss him, so he started talking to stop himself from doing so in a theoretically public hallway. Words fell from his lips, and he barely understood what they were, but he understood the look on Tyler’s face. Even with his rambling, he caught himself trying to lean in, to close the distance between them, and probably no one would see, or care if they did, but probably wasn’t worth the risk. Instead, he tapped Tyler on the chest and beckoned for him to follow. The shy smile that peeked out from the shadows made his heart soar, and the crime scene tape was batted out of the way like a cobweb.

They seemed to have silently agreed that there was no point in staying at the arena. If there was a place for them on the card that night, which there probably wasn’t, it wasn’t nearly as important as what the evening had in stock. The trip to the parking lot was in an expectant silence, the only direct communication being Fandango pointing out his car. Tyler climbed into the passenger seat of Fandango’s car, long legs stretching out into the footwell, and his mouth opened like he was going to say something. Before any words could form, however, Fandango had tugged him close by his necktie and claimed his mouth. Tyler moved eagerly into it at first, fingers of one hand petting at Fandango’s jawline, but within moments, he was pulling away. He didn’t look upset; in fact, his expression was quite delightfully mischievous.

“You can’t just disappear on me like that and still get everything you want,” he said, even though he was clearly hungry for more affection, leaning forward and squirming like an eager puppy.

Fandango’s hand dropped from Tyler’s necktie to the gearstick, though it was with some amount of reluctance. “I’ll make it up to you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d made that kind of promise to Tyler, and Tyler tilted his head back with a giddy laugh, the same way he did almost every time.

“You certainly will. Right onto the main road, then the first left.”

* * *

Once the hotel room door swung closed behind them, Fandango expected to reach for Tyler again, but his hands were gently pushed away. For a moment, his stomach turned; was this the prelude to an argument? Was Tyler going to demand to know a more detailed story about where he’d been?

Instead, Tyler stepped out of reach, though he bit at his lower lip with just a trace of… something, as he did. Nervousness, perhaps. It was difficult to tell.

“Sit down,” he instructed loftily as he kicked off his shoes. There was definitely something lacking in confidence there, but it was well-hidden. Fandango doubted that anyone but him would have seen it.

Fandango sat, obediently, in the indicated seat. It was a dining chair he had a faint memory of having seen in a catalogue before, and for a strange moment he wondered if it was part of the regular hotel decor or if Tyler had gotten into the habit of bringing his own chairs places. It wouldn’t have been the strangest thing that Tyler had ever done, and it was very much Tyler’s style, a polished white frame with a plush seat.

Only when he felt Tyler’s presence behind him did he realize how much he’d drifted into that strange reverie about the chair; he had no idea what Tyler had been doing while he’d been lost in thought. That was a little embarrassing, but Tyler didn’t appear to care. There was a light tap on his shoulder before he felt Tyler move in closer still, lips brushing against his cheek before he heard his sultry voice.

“Hands.”

Fandango reached back with one hand a little gingerly, not quite knowing what to expect, and his other followed as Tyler made an impatient grab for it. He realized Tyler’s plan just a fraction of a second before he felt the metal cuff click securely around his right wrist, then the left. As Tyler sauntered into position in front of him again, Fandango tested the handcuffs experimentally. Not too tight, and Tyler hadn’t actually attached them to the chair or anything of the sort so he was free to move if he decided that he wanted to. That didn’t seem likely, but it was nice to know he had the option.

Tyler was looking down at him with what he probably thought was a cold, dominant sort of expression, but there was still a little awkward sheepishness in his face. More so than there had been before, actually. Like he’d planned this far, but didn’t know what his next step was.

“Breezey,” Fandango whispered, “I love that outfit on you.” He’d planned to say something sexy, and only kind of ridiculous, like, ‘I’d like it better off you’, but Tyler’s smirk told him that the line had been anticipated, so he fell silent. Tyler moved closer, trailing one finger down his jaw, his lips just a few inches away.

“I bet you do.” As Tyler spoke, he swung one leg over Fandango’s body so he was straddling him, face to face. His lips remained just a few tempting inches away as his hand traced a line down from Fandango’s jawline to his chest, bare under his black vest, then moved in closer still so they were very nearly touching as he whispered, “Is this anything like what you had in mind for it?”

It took every ounce of Fandango’s self-control to stay still, to not lean up and kiss him, because he had to assume that was Tyler’s intention: to tease, not to beckon. It became more difficult as Tyler slowly moved on top of him, his hips rolling in a suggestive circle. His weight was settled low on Fandango’s thighs, so the grinding wasn’t where Fandango would like it to be, but it was definitely a wonderful reminder of what Tyler might be able to do.

“Something like this,” he admitted, and he didn’t add ‘you annoying little tease’, but the thought was frustratingly present.

Tyler got again to his feet, withdrawing from Fandango, but there was still a little smirk playing at his lips. Confidence was taking him over again, which was wonderful to see, if just a little unsettling.

One hand rose to tug away his necktie, and Fandango gasped softly at the sight. There was no reason to be so stunned by the view. Tyler was gorgeous, yes, but he had always been gorgeous. The whole world had seen Tyler shirtless or in an open vest and tights, and Fandango himself had seen Tyler in almost every state of undress he could imagine, but there was something maybe a little special about this.

It was probably the uniform.

The necktie was draped carefully around Fandango’s shoulders with a little smile from Tyler, and he leaned forward again with his head cocked slightly to the side.

“Tell me about how it got your brain moving, then. Why did you want me to come with you?” As Tyler spoke, one hand pulled the elastic from his hair, slipping it around his wrist. Blond cascaded around his neck, and he tilted the hat back to show his face a little more.

“You’re on the right track.” Fandango pulled at the cuffs a little again, shifting his arms, before he admitted, “This was unexpected, though.”

Tyler pulled his lower lip between his teeth at those words, but Fandango flashed a smile that seemed to put him more at ease.

“There’s a safet -”

“I know about the safety latch,” Fandango said, quickly, to reassure him. “Unexpected isn’t bad, Tyler.”

It seemed to help; a tightness in Tyler’s shoulders relaxed, and he stopped worrying at his lower lip. He hadn't returned to full confidence, that much was plain in his eyes, but he was moving like he had, dropping into a crouching position with one hand planted on each of Fandango’s thighs, just above the knee.

“You said something about liking money. Why would you say that?”

Fandango’s mouth dropped open a little, and Tyler laughed softly at the sight. He barely remembered the words he’d said, but he had some memories of what he'd been feeling, and if he'd really said something about liking money he was fairly sure he knew the exact reason. And even more sure that he couldn't say that to Tyler.

Hands were gliding up and down his thighs, though, pushing them apart a little further to allow Tyler to settle in between them, looking up at him. How could he do anything but what Tyler wanted? If his hands weren't cuffed behind his back, they would have been in Tyler’s hair, pulling him close for deep, sweet kisses to apologise for ever making him worry. Nails scraping across his scalp, perhaps. The chain shook between his wrists as his hands trembled with the need for Tyler, and that made Tyler laugh even harder. Not quite cruel, but maybe just a little mean.

God, how he wanted to have his hands free.

“I… It was probably something filthy,” he said, and he could hear the hesitation in his own voice, knew that Tyler would probably pick up on it too.

“It was something  _ specifically _ filthy, wasn’t it?”

Fandango was not the kind to ever blush about anything, and that wasn’t about to change, but Tyler had an expression on his face that was, at least, making his heart race in a slightly strange way. Tyler obviously knew what he’d meant. He didn’t know why he’d said it, neither of them did, because sometimes words came out of Fandango’s mouth that didn’t make sense to anyone, just to fill the silence or pass the time or, as the case may be, to stop himself sticking his tongue in someone else’s mouth.

Was Tyler going to make him say it?

“Yes,” he said carefully, and that sparkle in Tyler’s eye at the word made him struggle uselessly against the handcuffs once more before remembering they were there. In slight frustration, he added, “Next time I want you in these.”

“Oooh,” Tyler whispered, his voice almost mocking as his fingertips traced figure-eights on one of Fandango’s thighs. “But I haven’t been bad, ‘Dango. I didn’t disappear and make you all worried. And you were implying that I should be a stripper, weren’t you? I would never do that to you. And  _ you _ didn’t pass the police academy.”

Fandango couldn’t think of anything wrong with what Tyler had said, but his mouth went a little dry as Tyler’s fingers climbed almost to his groin then backed off at the last moment.

“You're always a little bad, though,” he managed, and Tyler grinned at him brightly.

“Maybe.”

For all his good points, and Tyler had many, grace was not particularly high on the list. He could make a lot of things look good, in the ring especially, but he’d seen Tyler’s attempts at dancing before, when he thought no one was watching, or when he was trying to impress Fandango, and it was… well, it was best that he didn’t try to do it too often. Still, Tyler drew himself back up to his full height, arching his back as he stood, and for a moment there was a hint of the idea that maybe Tyler had some concept of how to move his body, given enough motivation.

“You’re not allowed to touch strippers, anyway,” Tyler added, the fingers of one hand trailing down Fandango’s jaw again before moving to his own collar. “And I don’t think you know how to keep your hands to yourself.”

One, two, then three of Tyler’s buttons popped open, and Fandango shifted position a little awkwardly in the chair. Tan skin gleamed under the lights, and there was very little that Fandango could think to say.

Well, maybe one thing.

“Music.”

“What?” Tyler hesitated as his fingers reached the fourth button. Fandango stumbled to find more words.

“You can’t do this in silence. There needs to be music.”

That earned an exasperated huff, and Tyler’s eyes rolled almost all the way into the back of his head.

“You’re never happy,” he grumbled, but within seconds his phone was in his hand, thumb moving like he was scrolling down a list. Fandango craned his neck to try to look, but Tyler angled the phone away.

“Maybe try -” Fandango began, but Tyler waved his other hand in Fandango’s face to shush him.

“Honestly, ‘Dango, can’t you just - alright, maybe this will work.”

Familiar guitar flooded out of his iPhone speakers, and Fandango couldn’t stifle the laugh in time. If Tyler had looked exasperated before, he looked mutinous at the sound, and the music stopped just before the vocals cut in.

“You realize that’s the most cliché -”

“You say one more word and I’m going to bed. By myself. You can sleep in the chair.”

Fandango opened his mouth to say something else, then thought better of it and just nodded silently. A small smile played at Tyler’s lips, but he didn’t say anything, either. The two just looked at each other, an understanding gradually drawing between them, before Tyler flicked a button on the screen again and hit play.  _ Pour Some Sugar On Me _ filled the room once more.

More than anything else, Tyler looked faintly self-conscious as he dropped the phone on the bench beside him and raised his hand to trail over his own collarbone, then down his chest towards the fourth button. As his fingertips grazed over it, he appeared to think better of it, and as the vocals cut in, he reached for the police hat still perched on his head, whipping it off and rolling his head with a dramatic flick of his hair.

His eyes fluttered closed as he did it, and when they reopened, that cocky, self-assured manner took him over again. It was a familiar Tyler, more posturing than sincerity, but he stepped forward and swung his leg over Fandango again, dropping the hat onto Fandango’s head as he settled his weight onto Fandango’s lap. The fingers of one hand trailed down, tracing the curve of Fandango’s ear, then down his neck and chest, while the other hand busied with his own buttons.

There was nothing that Fandango could think of that he wanted more than to grab Tyler, to touch his body like he was being touched. At the same time, if he really wanted to, he knew he could, knew how to free his hands, but he didn’t. Hungry as he was for Tyler, he could wait a little longer to have him. Especially if he was getting a show like this.

His body was definitely responding, and as Tyler half-rose, rolling his hips in just the right spot in a slow circle, the smirk told him that Tyler was more than aware of it. The weight was gone altogether a moment later as Tyler stepped back, pivoting in front of Fandango to face away from him and hands dropping to his hips as he moved in a suggestive figure-eight, then dropped into a slow body roll.

The critical part of Fandango’s brain that knew that dancing was happening in his vicinity could see the problems in the performance; transitions were mechanical at best, and something in Tyler retreated shyly every time he met Fandango’s eye. Still, he wasn’t about to complain, as Tyler’s unbuttoned police shirt flapped whenever he moved, exposing those stomach muscles Fandango loved to trail kisses down, as Tyler’s perfectly shaped ass swayed right in his face and promised to distract him from any other thoughts.

Another body roll, then Tyler had turned to him again, dropping back into a crouch at Fandango’s feet as he slipped the shirt from his shoulders. He wasn’t moving at all in time to the music, Fandango realized, but that wasn’t really important. Not as his hands settled on Fandango’s thighs again, coaxing his legs further apart and pushing himself back to his feet.

Hands still settled on Fandango’s thighs, Tyler leaned forward and nosed the black vest out of his way so he could tease at Fandango’s nipple. His tongue flicked out at it a few times, then he pulled at it gently with his teeth just once before moving to do the same to the other. The warm heat of Tyler’s tongue sent a shiver up his spine, and the tiny sting of teeth sent a burning lust right through him.

Tyler made a warning sound as the handcuff chain rattled again, and Fandango struggled to relax his arms, willed himself not to break free. His body was throbbing for attention and his hands were itching to grab and hold and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it.

Even if Tyler wasn’t the best dancer, he made a fine stripper.

Soft, cooing words fell from Tyler’s perfect pink lips, the words lost under the music and the haze that had fallen over Fandango. It sounded teasing, though. Taunting, almost. Next thing he knew, Tyler was standing again, stepping back just a little, running his hands down over his stomach until they reached his waistband. Hips swaying, not in time to the music, but in time to some beat in Tyler’s own head, maybe.

The button popped open as Tyler’s hips rolled in another smooth circle, then the zipper, almost in slow-motion. Whether that was Tyler’s idea of a show, or if Fandango’s brain had just clouded over at that moment, he wasn’t sure.

As Tyler’s hands began to ease the trousers down over his swaying hips, he seemed to hesitate a moment. It made some sense. There were few ways to erotically remove trousers that weren’t designed for stripping. Fandango couldn’t spare a moment to wonder about how Tyler was going to be up to that task; the sight of Tyler’s hip bones and the bulge in his tight-fitting briefs was more than distracting enough.

The trousers hit the floor and Tyler stepped out of them, covering the awkward action by stepping forward between Fandango’s parted thighs again. He turned, slowly, so he was facing away from him, then bent at the waist neatly, his hands sliding down his bare thighs. Fandango had to bite his lip to keep himself from wanting to take hold of him.

His will broke as Tyler bent his knees to place his ass perfectly in position and circled his hips a few more times, grinding right up against Fandango’s cock. He struggled against the cuffs a moment, then moaned softly.

“I can’t take it, Breezey.” His voice sounded more like he was begging than anything else. That probably wasn’t far wrong. “Please, you gotta let me…”

“Let you what?”

That was utterly infuriating because obviously Tyler knew exactly what he wanted, his tone of voice and the way his hips pressed down against him made that clear. Fandango fumbled for the safety latch, but Tyler made another disapproving noise, and reluctantly, Fandango relaxed.

“Let me go, touch you, have you,  _ please _ Tyler...”

Slowly, painfully slowly, Tyler stood and turned, looking down at Fandango with a thoughtful sort of expression. He was striving to look totally unaffected, even though it was plainly obvious how hard he was from all of this. He stepped back, then away, and for a terrifying moment Fandango really thought he might refuse, might keep the game up, and Fandango was going to explode or something.

There was a warmth and a weight behind him, though, and then the cuffs unlocked. Fandango rolled out his shoulders as Tyler stepped back in front of him, the cockiest smirk he could possibly imagine plastered all over his face. He reached for him immediately, before he quite knew what he was doing, but Tyler stepped out of reach, laughing giddily at him.

“Join me in the champagne room.”

Tyler actually stuck his tongue out at him, that obnoxious little thing, but as he stepped into the bedroom with another inviting shake of his hips, there was nothing to do but follow. The music kept playing from the other room, but neither of them cared.


	2. Officer Dango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Fandango's turn with the uniform. Based on the WWE.com exclusive video 'Breezango suits up to clean up WWE'. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fh-M8mth8Fk)

It was an argument they’d had many times before; it was hopelessly difficult to get ready for anything in a shared locker room, because of how utterly filthy basically everyone else on the roster was. Neither of them had come up with a viable solution to the problem. Tyler had considered that the women’s locker room might be at least marginally nicer, but had only gotten halfway through his request before he’d been forced to slink away under Disgusto Bryan’s judgemental glare. In hindsight, he probably should have seen that misunderstanding coming.

So what else was there to do but complain about it? Still, even Tyler had a limit to how much complaining he could do on a given day so when Fandango started it up again he was still paying more attention to his belt and vest than to the words, letting his boyfriend’s voice just wash over him as he offered, well, if he was honest, slightly irritable acknowledgements. It was hard to maintain a good mood when surrounded by such filth, and harder still when no one had told you that you weren’t even wrestling before you arrived. Tyler was getting more snappish by the second, and the fact that Fandango clearly was too wasn't helping.

Until the curtains swung open.

Tyler’s mouth had dropped open in stunned surprise at the view, and he could hear himself stumbling over his words before he literally ran away to go fetch his own matching police uniform. He would have done anything that Fandango asked him in that moment.

As he got to his bag, he realized the important problem. He looked amazing in his uniform, he knew that. For a start, he looked amazing in everything. For another, he’d seen the way that Fandango had reacted to the sight of him in it. The problem was that he was now fairly sure he’d reacted even more stupidly than Fandango had, which might just have meant that Fandango looked… better than he did? In the uniform, at least. Not overall. But how was he supposed to compete? He couldn’t wear his own uniform alongside that sight, could he?

As he reluctantly started to dig through his bag for it anyway, an arm wrapped around his waist from behind. A shiver ran up his spine at the familiar gravel of Fandango’s voice in his ear.

“Maybe it was yours. I forget.”

“How could you forget? You would have had to go through my bag for it.”

The longer he dug through his bag, though, the more he had to admit that Fandango might have been right. Certainly, his uniform wasn’t anywhere to be seen. In some ways, that was actually a small relief. He turned to face Fandango, and at least he was somewhat prepared for the view this time so it didn’t knock him off his feet quite as badly as it had the first time.

“What are you going to do?” There seemed to be legitimate concern in Fandango’s voice, though the sunglasses he was wearing stopped it being quite so visible in his face.

“I suppose I’ll ask Miguel to make me another.” One that is a little more flattering this time, perhaps.

Fandango nodded thoughtfully at this.

“Well, we can’t get started until you have a matching uniform.”

That much was true. Tyler’s fingers tapped against his mouth for a moment as he considered this. He had a standing agreement with Miguel that rush jobs were only acceptable in emergencies, and they had very carefully defined emergencies in the past. He was about 80% sure that this didn’t qualify, though there was no harm in calling him to confirm that.

As he raised the phone to his ear, Fandango glanced side to side, then stepped forward, narrowing the distance between them. Tyler lowered the phone silently. God, Fandango looked hopelessly delicious. Distantly, he could hear the ringing cut off and Miguel answer the phone, just as Fandango’s lips brushed against his. He didn’t normally like kissing at the arena. More than a few people seemed to be aware that there was something going on between them, but he didn’t like the idea of making it too obvious, in case there was someone who might take offense.

Still, he was fairly certain they were alone, and it would have taken a stronger man than him to say no to Fandango when he was looking like this. It was only a fleeting contact anyway, and Tyler took a shaky breath as Fandango took a step back, a cocky smile plastered all over his handsome face.

For the second week in a row, they left SmackDown before filming had even finished.

* * *

 

One of the things that always drove Tyler absolutely wild about Fandango was the way he always seemed like he could never get enough of Tyler’s face. It was as though his hands were always itching to touch and take hold, fingers caressing his skin or burying in his hair. It had been a little irritating in the early days, when Tyler would let him do it out of politeness, but it had grown on him. Suddenly he wasn’t sure he could ever give it up.

No time was wasted as they entered the hotel room. A hand on either side of his jaw pulled him close for a series of soft, messy kisses as he was gently led towards the bed. Fandango sat down on the edge, pulling Tyler with him into his lap. One of the hands on his jaw dropped to the small of Tyler’s back, while the other crept to the back of his head. Fingertips brushed against the elastic holding his bun in place, but did not yet pull it loose.

“I might have taken something else out of your bag,” Fandango whispered, in between kisses. It took Tyler a moment too long to make sense of the words; he felt altogether too distracted by the position they were in. Finally, some kind of understanding dawned.

“So you were in my bag,” he whispered back, fingers toying with Fandango’s collar, lips bare inches away.

Fandango just hummed an affirmative response, tugging at the back of Tyler’s shirt.

“Take this off.”

It wasn't quite an order, but Tyler was more than willing to comply as though it was. He considered it something of a success that he only fumbled the buttons twice, once on his vest and once on his shirt. The second time was clearly Fandango’s fault, as he'd started pushing the shirt down and off Tyler’s shoulders before he was done with the buttons, and set to distracting him with his mouth, hot on Tyler’s chest.

“What else did you take?” Tyler gasped out as his shirt finally hit the floor, though he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew. That was all but confirmed when he heard Fandango chuckle against his skin.

“You know what I said about next time.” Fandango lifted his head, and his smile was absolutely wicked. He'd left both the sunglasses and hat behind in the rental car, which was fortunate. It was highly unfair how sunglasses made Fandango look so utterly perfect, when they only made Tyler faintly resemble a bee.

A gorgeous bee, but still.

“You're terrible.”

“You love it,” Fandango replied, gently chiding, and Tyler felt the flush climb up his body to his face at the words, even though he ordered his body to behave. It seemed to go unnoticed, however, as teeth met his collarbone for just a moment before Fandango spoke again. His breath tickled pleasantly. “Anyway, you naughty boy, what were you bringing them to SmackDown for?”

Tyler wanted to say ‘In case I needed them in my police work’, which should have been obvious, but his body was having a slightly unexpected reaction to some of Fandango’s words and his eyes fluttered shut as he asked, his voice slightly strangled, “What did you just call me?”

Lips pressed against his throat again, then teeth stung at his pulse just hard enough to be felt. When Fandango spoke, his voice was dark and lustful and spoke of fire to something deep inside Tyler.

“Naughty boy,” he repeated, and Tyler tilted his head back as he felt the sharp sting on his throat again, giving Fandango better access. “Anyone would think you wanted me to take them, leaving them right on top of your things like that.”

A part of Tyler, the part that always stayed distant and watched, wondered vaguely if that could honestly have been the first time anyone had ever called him that. Nothing came to mind. Similar things, certainly, memories sparked of cooing voices and passionate whispers telling him he was bad, terrible, and a few even less kind things. There was no reason he could think of why that particular choice of words should go straight to his dick, making him throb and ache for more.

Even the watching part of Tyler shut down as Fandango’s roaming fingers reached his belt buckle and his mouth found Tyler’s again. There was only hot need and the moment; anything else could wait.

Fingers brushed against his erection through his trousers and he was completely unable to stifle the moan that dragged out of him. He bit down sharply on Fandango’s lower lip, half in surprise, and half out of something like vengeance, and felt a flash of cruel pride at the muffled cry that earned in return.

“Fuck, you're -” Fandango mumbled against his mouth, as he felt his belt be tugged away. The rest of the sentence, whatever it may have been, was lost as one hand rose again to cradle his face and he was kissed deeper still. Tyler expected his trouser button to be the next target, and rolled his hips forward in expectation of another fleeting contact. The feeling, instead, of cold metal encasing his right wrist made his whole body shiver like a current was running through him. He made a soft sound of protest, because it simply wouldn't do to have Fandango think he could just do as he pleased, but his other hand snaked behind his back to meet the other to be cuffed in turn. Maybe a little too eagerly. Maybe just eagerly enough.

One more kiss softly met his lips, before he was guided back, off Fandango’s lap and onto his knees on the floor. The loss of contact, of closeness, made him shiver with the sudden cold and more than a little vulnerability. Judging from the look in Fandango’s eye, flickering from lust to concern and back again, it hadn't gone unnoticed, but he’d clearly decided it was nothing to be worried about.

“Such a naughty boy,” Fandango murmured softly, his thumb grazing softly over Tyler’s lower lip before his hand withdrew to work on removing his own belt. Tyler’s mouth popped open for a moment, almost automatically, before he remembered himself and closed it again. “Trying to distract an officer of the law.”

All Tyler could do was squirm at his feet. Possibly there was something he could say, something witty about distractions or some sexy comment about officers, but the words weren't coming. His gaze was fixed on where Fandango’s fingers were working, freeing his stiff cock from his uniform trousers, and his breath quickened a little. He could only hope that Fandango didn't notice Tyler practically salivating at the sight, or at least would politely forget, once they were done.

Without waiting for instruction, Tyler let his mouth fall open again, just enough to show willing. That earned a smile, pleased and sort of fond. Something deep in Tyler’s belly ached and burned with another stab of lust at the sight. The red, swollen head dropped onto Tyler’s lower lip, and his tongue flitted out to meet it. Slowly, teasingly. One of Fandango’s hands was toying with his hair elastic again, while the other guided the cock into his mouth. As Tyler leaned forward to take him deeper, worry fluttered in his stomach and he tilted back to look up at Fandango. Looking for something, though he didn’t know the words to say what. Despite the fact that Fandango always made him feel comfortable and safe, there was just a note, for a second, of something a little scary and unfamiliar.

The look he got back was warm and doting, and that made everything a little better.

Blond hair curtained his face as the elastic was finally pulled loose, though Fandango’s hand remained a warm presence at the back of his head. Not pushing him forward, not even really guiding him. Just there, supporting. He rocked his head up and down the length in his mouth, slowly at first, then moving with a little more confidence. Fingers tightened in his hair a moment, then relaxed, stroking the back of his head gently. A little hitch of breath from above him sent a thrill through Tyler, and he sucked hard in response, an acknowledgement of the sound.

“ _ Good _ boy,” Fandango gasped out, and the way he was breathing made it quite clear to Tyler that wasn’t quite what he’d meant to say, but the words came out anyway. As Fandango’s fingers played against Tyler’s scalp, Tyler couldn’t stop himself squirming, frantically looking for some friction against his own hard cock, even as he redoubled the efforts on the one in his mouth. “Good boy, good, so good for me.”

The litany of praise washing over him made it hard to concentrate, blood thundering through him like his skin was just humming with need. Tyler knew he was moving sloppily and couldn’t imagine that it was nearly as hot as when he was on proper form, every flick of his tongue carefully crafted to make Fandango fall to pieces. Perhaps he was getting points for effort, though. There was no break in the string of compliments, and Fandango was trembling as his other hand dropped to cradle Tyler’s face.

A hot spurt of fluid hit the back of Tyler’s throat unexpectedly, and he pulled back, coughing and spluttering weakly. The relaxed, post-orgasmic look on Fandango’s face lasted barely seconds before it was replaced with a look of concern, and then both hands were cupping Tyler’s face, one of his thumbs wiping some of the wet mess from Tyler’s chin. Some of it was still there, Tyler knew; he could feel the mix of saliva and semen trickling down his face, and further. His eyes stung, reflex tears from the near-choking. Cruel words jumped to his tongue, but he swallowed them back just before they could spill out. At least he could still swallow something.

“I'm sorry, that was my fault,” Fandango was babbling, his other thumb rising to wipe away one of the tears just as it fell. “Are you okay, Breezey?”

_ Damn right it was your fault _ , Tyler didn't say, but the gentle care in Fandango’s eyes was enough to soften his expression into a small smile.

“I’m a mess,” he murmured back, once he felt he could trust himself to talk. He didn't sound much like himself, he realized, but Fandango smiled back. He looked reassured, at least, that Tyler wasn't imminently choking or drowning.

“Hold on, I'll -” Fandango didn't finish the sentence as his hands withdrew from Tyler’s face, and he started to rise from the bed. He didn't stop to tuck his dick away, and Tyler couldn’t help but smirk to himself at the sight of it dangling out of his uniform trousers. Trousers mildly stained from Tyler’s little choking mishap, but that could be politely ignored.

“Do you mind?” Tyler snapped, as Fandango moved towards the bathroom. Fandango looked back at him, confused. The handcuff chain rattled behind Tyler’s back. “You're just going to leave me like this, are you?”

“I was going to clean you up.”

Tyler’s eyes narrowed. “Can it wait?”

For a moment, Fandango seemed baffled by the question, before Tyler looked pointedly down to where his own erection was still tenting his trousers. Chains rattled for a second time as though to punctuate the look. A slow smile crept across his face, and Fandango stopped, halfway between the bed and the bathroom door.

“Is there something else you want?”

“Don’t make me beg for it,” Tyler replied, though his voice faltered slightly as he spoke. Why did he have to phrase it that way? That was just putting ideas in Fandango’s head. A certain quirk in Fandango’s lip told him that it had been noted, so Tyler added, a little more sharply, “Because I don’t see why I should -”

“Shut up, Breezey.” Fandango was in front of him again, thumb tracing over Tyler’s lower lip as Tyler’s mouth snapped shut obediently. Fingers softly stroked his jaw, then buried again into his hair before Fandango dropped to his knees in front of him to match Tyler’s position, leaning forward and murmuring in a voice almost like a soft purr, “You want me to let you come?”

“I want you to  _ make _ me come,” Tyler corrected, then shuddered as fingers tightened in his hair and his head was pulled back.

“Wrong answer,” Fandango whispered, his breath tickling at the sensitive skin of Tyler’s throat. Tyler shivered in anticipation of something, a kiss, or a bite perhaps, but nothing came. “Let’s try again. You want me to let you come?”

“Yes.”

“Is that how you should speak to me? Try again.”

Tyler squirmed again. “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.”

The sting on his scalp faded as Fandango’s hand relaxed, just cradling the back of his head instead of pulling at his hair. His other hand skated down Tyler’s bare stomach to undo his trouser button, then clumsily worked inside his underwear, wrapping around his stiff cock. Tyler’s hips jerked forward at the first contact, his head falling forward to rest against Fandango’s shoulder. Heat tightened inside him as he thrust forward into Fandango’s fist, soft words of appreciation still spilling into his ear. A noise like a whimper escaped him, muffled by Fandango’s shirt.

It felt like it lasted hardly any time at all before he collapsed with relief against his lover, his body shuddering with frantic breaths. A kiss was pressed to his cheek, softly, appreciatively, before a hand wrapped around his body and the cuffs finally unclicked. As the two men got to their feet, Tyler couldn’t help but grimace at the sticky feeling that seemed to cover him from head to toe, and Fandango nodded understandingly.

“Shower, then dry cleaner,” Fandango promised, one hand cupping Tyler’s cheek and drawing him near for a quick kiss before they together made their way to the bathroom.

Tyler just smiled. “I love you too.”


End file.
